


True Love

by softsocks (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Cliche, Fluff, Heart-Eyes Howell, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Originally for Valentine's Day, Sexual Content-technically, Snow, True Love, cliche love/fluff, mentions of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/softsocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan falls in love with Phil, slowly, though he doesn't know it. Phil's always been in love with Dan, it just takes him a bit to realise. Both, are in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Love

**Author's Note:**

> Based off You Are In Love by Taylor Swift  
> I don't own the song, or the characters.

Dan stares at Phil a lot.

Like, a _lot_.

And it's not strange, not really, not anymore. It was a bit weird at first, and it caused Phil to feel a bit...awkward, when he first noticed. But, he's gotten used to it. Now, he sees it as just a quirky, in a way _cute_ , thing that Dan does.

Simple as that.

Even the fans have begun to notice, nicknaming the look _"Heart-Eyes Howell"_ , which was not so much funny as sweet and endearing.

To _Phil_. Dan pretended not to see it, pretended that it didn't exist.

If Phil was honest, which he tried to be most of the time, he _liked_ it. He also liked that Dan didn't know Phil knew.

Sure, it _sounds_ creepy, but when Phil sees Dan gazing or staring out of the corner of his eye...

It's not that Phil's in _love_ with Dan, per se, it's more that he's fond of Dan. He cares for Dan, likes him...fancies him, even.

He's not at that point, he's not in love. Not yet.

And it's more than likely, that Dan doesn't like him back, in _that_ way, and that's fine.

Phil's not that bothered by it. He's liked Dan for so long, practically since they met, in such an unrequited way-the idea of Dan liking him back is wishful at best; if Dan _did_ like him _in that way_ , it would be a shock, strange.

He's liked Dan for too long, he doesn't know any different anymore. He cant imagine it, _really_ _imagine_ _it_ , happening.

And he's okay with that.

* * *

It's different when Dan does see Phil seeing.

"S-sorry." He stutters, eyes flicking back to the TV, _Assassins Creed_ staring back at him.

"For what?" Phil asks. He doesn't see the problem. In his eyes, there _isn't_ a problem.

"I was...I was staring." Dan says slowly, a little ashamed at being caught, and confused by Phil's rather blasé attitude.

"Oh, I didn't notice." Phil says.

He turns back to the game, his character running away once Dan makes an attempt to cut him in half with a small blade. The light from the screen illuminates their faces, shadowing parts of their cheeks, their noses. It flickers on the wall, bight flashes that would burn their eyes if they weren't wide awake.

They'd arrived home late from a meeting, the content of which neither can be bothered recalling. Dan had suggested a video game, as a way to relax and stop thinking, even if it's only for an hour or two. Phil had agreed, on the condition that _he_ got to choose the game.

His regret had grown from the moment Dan slid the disc in.

They hadn't even taken of their jackets, and the main light was still off.

Lazy, Phil realises, is not a big enough word to explain their situation and actions; as he tells Dan.

"Are you saying that killing innocent civilians who look at us, despite that being the ultimate opposite goal of the game, _isn't_ productive?" Dan asks.

Phil laughs, and Dan feel's his heart light with a nice, warm feeling that he cant quite put a name on, or find a reason for.

"Productive for some, perhaps. Providing they want to waste time...as we do." Phil replies, smiling, showing all his teeth in a wide grin.

That's how you knew you were funny, Dan thinks. How you knew you're joke, lighthearted, comedic or satirical, was truly funny. When someone smiled at you like _that_.

"Everything unproductive is productive for us," Dan remarks.

He realises, as he says it, how true his comment is.

He also realises, how much he doesn't care.

It surprises him, but it doesn't matter what they do. Not really.

All that matters is that it's him, and Phil.

Him and Phil.

Dan and Phil.

Phil and Dan.

He's heard it countless, endless times before.

Only now, suddenly, it feels different, saying so.

And he doesn't understand why.

* * *

Dan and Phil.

Not Dan, _and_ Phil.

_Dan and Phil._

Phil never used to think about it, but a few months after their meeting, he began to entertain the thought.

Becoming more than just Dan, and Phil; but _Dan and Phil._

A group, a pair.

A couple.

Two names, only because they were two independent people. They had different names.

But seen as a couple, nonetheless.

Not that he minded, being Dan, and Phil.

They were still a pair, friends.

 _Best_ _Friends._

Because being Dan's friend is better than nothing.

* * *

It happens again.

 _Heart-Eyes Howell_ makes a return, and for the first time, Phil understands the name.

He sees it, really sees it.

He's surprised to _not_ see literal cartoon heart eyes, he sees it that well.

Dan's eyes are softer, his expression gentle and almost admiring.

It's gone, in the blink of an eye.

In fact, Phil _does_ blink, and it's because of that he almost misses it.

He replays it in his mind. He's certain that Dan had been looking at him, staring at him, the way he first thought.

It's not a long look. And it's barely anything by means of _proof._ But it's enough.

They go shopping, a few days later.

They don't have a plan in mind, they rarely do, and it was admittedly quite late; but even Dan was surprised when midnight struck.

"Coffee?" He asks Phil. By his way of thinking, it's late, but they're already out. Dan doesn't fancy falling asleep on the Tube, or in a cab; and he fancies carrying on an asleep, practically deadweight Phil even less.

"Sure." Phil replies.

They're lucky it's a Saturday night-later trading hours. Time passes very quickly around them, and most of the time they don't pay attention to how late it is or how many hours have passed.

(Being unsociable, often nocturnal creatures, they don't often have a _need_ for time.)

They get coffee from a near-empty Starbucks, and walk around the city center. Bright light from lampposts and shop windows illuminate their path. Dan, rather absentmindedly, toys with the chain on his neck.

It's an old one, and he doesn't wear it all the time-he cant even remember the last time he wore it, or why he put it on that day at all.

On a thin, silver chain sits a black music note, a simple treble clef. Nothing more.

Phil had gotten it for him, on the first day they spent together.

" _Because we both like Muse, and we're obsessed with Muse...and I love the way you play the piano."_

Phil had said when he'd handed it to Dan.

To Phil, back then, and now to Dan, the necklace was a symbol of something important to the both of them, something that connected them.

And at the same time, more than that.

It represents the bond between them, the string that connects their two bodies and their friendship.

After all, their friendship had sparked when they both found out about their shared love of music.

The light reflects off Dan's necklace. Phil nudges him, and he quickly hides it under his shirt.

(Phil saw. He saw the necklace, he saw Dan playing with it; more proof, in his eyes.)

Phil nudges Dan again.

"Yeah?" Dan asks, because now Phil has bumped him twice, with no explanation, and he doesn't want o be bumped again-he might trip over his own feet and crash into a lamppost or something.

Phil just smiles, which doesn't give Dan any indication on why he was nudged.

"Look up at the sky." Phil whispers.

He's pointing, and Dan looks up.

"It's just stars," He's about to say, but then he focuses and he stops himself.

He looks, not just passing his eyes over the sky at the burning gas balls he's seen a hundred times before, but really looks, and he understands.

He understands why stars are used so much, in every song, book and movie.

_They're beautiful._

He understands why Phil pointed in the first place.

_He's beautiful._

Dan shakes his head, hoping to shake the thought away.

But he cant, because he realises it's true,

Phil _is_ beautiful.

His eyes are wide, his mouth open just that tiniest bit, as though he is gasping at he beauty of the stars and every wondrous secret they could be hiding.

Phil turns, just a little, to point something out to Dan-he's not really paying attention to the stars anymore-and their shoulders brush.

A small brush, a little touch, but it sends shivers down Dan's spine; despite the fifty thousand layers he wore.

He steps aside, putting a bit of distance between them.

 _It doesn't mean anything._ Dan thinks.

Except it does.

He knows it.

 _Phil_ knows it.

It's not proof, but it's something.

* * *

Love hit's Dan like a fully-loaded truck.

He wasn't exactly unaware of his feelings for Phil. He knew he liked Phil, who wouldn't, but he didn't think he loved Phil.

Love's a different story.

It's big and scary, and has such a more important, intenser meaning.

It's different, and he's terrified.

He's in love with Phil. With his _best friend._

And he doesn't know what to do.

Phil, on the other hand, is perfectly content to be in love with Dan.

So he loves Dan.

So what?

It's so simple to him; loves just a short hop from like, and Phil's _liked_ Dan since forever.

Phil's in love with Dan, and that's all that matters to him.

* * *

The next day is Sunday.

Phil wakes up to the smell of burning, and he panics for a second, until he properly wakes up.

There's no alarm, no manic Dan running around screaming and crying, so the house isn't on fire.

Which means that Dan's cooking.

It's a bit surprising, only because it's 10am and Dan's _actually awake._

That, and he's cooking breakfast. Which Dan doesn't do.

(Partly because he's never awake early enough, and partly because there's only a few things Dan _can_ cook, and breakfast isn't one of them.)

Despite his surprise, Phil walks out to the kitchen.

"Ah, it all makes sense now." He says.

"What does?" Dan asks.

"You burnt the toast." Phil says, pointing to the plate of charred bread.

"I didn't!" Dan exclaims defensively.

"Except-you did."

"Added flavour." Dan protests, in vain. "Besides, you're the one who adjusted the dial on the toaster!"

Suddenly, he chuckles, for no more reason than because he can, or so Phil thinks. He looks over at Dan in confusion, waiting for an explanation.

"You're wearing my shirt." Dan says, once his laughter has ceased.

Phil looks down, surprised for the second time that morning. He was wearing an old shirt of Dan's; faded black, almost grey, with small white shapes scattered everywhere. He doesn't know how he got it, and he cant remember putting it back on.

It's not a special one of Dan's, but Dan's nonetheless.

"Oh, sorry-I can go change..."

"It's fine." Dan says. He smiles, and Phil smiles back.

Dan didn't say so to Phil, but he thought Phil looked pretty good in his shirt; better than _he_ ever had.

* * *

Phil's a very patient person.

He's calm and willing to wait for most things in life.

(Except the fourth season of Sherlock-that's something no one can patiently wait for. Not even him.)

Dan, on the other hand, is restless and impatient; especially when it comes to things he really wants, _really badly._

It didn't take that long for Dan to realise that he was definitely, without a doubt, unable to deny it anymore- _in love with Phil._

A week or so after their Sunday Burnt Toast Breakfast, Dan decided _"fuck this"_.

He was sick of being unsure.

Sick of being scared.

He didn't want to let his fears and the ghosts of his crappy ex's rule his life.

He, Dan Howell, was in love with Phil Lester, and _that's all that mattered._

* * *

"Dan?" Phil asks, when Dan walks into the office.

Dan doesn's say anything, doesn't make any sounds or movements other than walking over to Phil and grasping either side of his face.

They lean in, and their lips connect, electricity sparking between them.

They're in love. Both of them.

Whether either know it...is another matter.

* * *

They take things slow, and everything's perfect.

For a while.

They cuddle, and they talk. They watch movies and make videos, make _love._ They kiss on sidewalks under streetlights, on the bridge as the Thames flows past calmly. They sneak kisses outside the view of their screens on live shows.

Unfortunately, perfection isn't a permanent state.

Their first fight as a couple isn't a big one, not by any standards, but it's not a simple argument either. It starts because Dan's editing and Phil is that tired all he wants to do is go to bed and sleep for a day.

Ten minutes later, they're screaming and yelling and Phil thinks there's tears falling down his cheeks. He goes to bed with wet cheeks and an aching heart.

Dan waits an hour, then two, then three, before he makes his way to his bedroom, _their_ _bedroom._ Phil looks asleep when he enters, so he's quite as he changes into pajamas and even quieter as he climbs into bed. A snail would have been louder than him.

Phil's not asleep, he hears Dan walk in, his shuffled feet, heavy breaths.

He tenses, afraid that Dan's still mad at him, upset with him.

Dan's not.

"I'm sorry Phil," He says. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm not mad, I promise."

Phil opens his mouth, about to answer, to tell Dan that it's okay, he's not mad either, everything's okay – but he doesn't get the chance.

"I love you."

Phil turns around, facing Dan with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"You love me?" He whispers.

Dan's wide-eyed too. He didn't know Phil as listening, he had been under the impression that Phil was asleep, that his words were entering dead ears.

"Yeah." He says, just as quiet.

"I love you, too." Phil says.

He pauses, as if contemplating something; perhaps the existence of the human race-or maybe that's just what Dan contemplated.

"You know you're my best friend, right?" He asks, sounding like he's looking for reassurance.

"Of course," Dan says. "You're my best friend too."

Phil smiles, and leans in.

They kiss, and it's soft and sweet and _perfect._

* * *

It's winter, and it's cold but it's _snowing._

And one of Phil's favorite things in life is snow.

"Dan..." He whines.

"No, Phil. It's cold and it's snowing and-"

"Exactly! It's not going to snow forever, Dan. One day, probably soon, it's all going to melt. Please!"

It's the almost-whine of the _please_ that gets him, and the pleading eyes that Dan just can't resist no matter how hard he tries.

"Fine. Because I'm sappy and you're annoyingly good at getting me to give in."

Phil simply smiles, and tugs on Dan's hand, leading him to the door.

"Dance with me."

"I'm not dancing with you."

"Dance with me.

"Phil, I'm not fucking dancing with you!"

(Dan swears a lot when he's cold. And when he's tired. And when he's angry. And when he's excited...okay, so Dan swears a lot. Point taken.)

"Dan." Phil states. "Don't be a snob. Dance with me."

Dan gives in. Because it's Phil, and because he looks like an adorable child experiencing their first ever snow fall.

And because secretly, it sounds like fun.

Phil holds onto Dan's waist, and Dan wraps his arms around Phil's neck.

They sway to imaginary music, dancing on cold, icy ground as clumps of snow and delicate snowflakes with intricate designs fall around them.

Dan gets snow in his hair, which curls at the damp ends.

Phil gets snow in his hair too, but it's not as much. It litters his hair, causing him to appear as though he had been standing in the range of a confetti-gun and had ducked off to the side at the last second.

"I feel like I'm in a snow globe." Phil says.

They twirl around and round, almost to the point of dizziness.

They dance to imaginary music that only exists in their minds, only flows through their bodies.

* * *

A few weeks later, Dan discovers a photo of the of them dancing, in a small golden frame on the desk.

He asks Phil about it.

"I got it from someone, a university student. She had taken a photo of us dancing, and when you went off to get coffee's she came over. She captured our intimate moment for her photography class, and asked if we would mind if she used it. I said no, knowing you wouldn't, and asked for a copy."

Phil indicates the photo. "That's the copy. Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"Very amazing."

And it is. It's black and white, the photo capturing Phil resting his head on Dan's shoulder, Dan whispering something in Phil's ear. Dan remembered the day with the fondness of a pleasant memory, and finds himself smiling softly.

"Now, no matter where we are," Phil says, walking closer and wrapping an arm around Dan's waist.

"We're always together."

* * *

They both understand now.

They understand why love is such a popular theme.

Why Rom-Co ms, chick flicks and those cheesy romance novels sell so well.

Why writers, creators of any and all kinds, try and express it, try and put it into words.

Because love is one of the most important things in life.

To be in love is a miraculous thing.

And that's what happened to them.

They fell in love.

True love.

And that's where they'll stay.

Forever.


End file.
